were only waiting for this moment to arise,
Blackbirds singing in the dead of night.
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see*~
Hermione pored over the large textbook,
pausing to take notes every so often. She had four big exams the next day, and
she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She hadnít slept at all last
night, it was past midnight and it was beginning to catch up with her. Her hair
had been put in a messy bun, and every so often a stand of hair would slip out
annoying her to no end. Quill poised, she read the next page, hoping it wasnít
about Uric the Oddball, she already knew about most of what he did. "Grindewald
was the most powerful dark wizard of his time, he is best known, however for
his hatred of Muggle-borns. Grindewald was responsible for many deaths of
Muggle-borns, justifying this to his supporters by saying they were
inferior." Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes for a minute. Then
shocked that she had wasted valuable time, she ripped open another book and
started searching desperately for more information.
"Hermione?" She jumped and let
out what could only be called a squeal.
"Ron, you scared the- I really need
to study! I canít do badly on this, Iím still a little fuzzy on the Cheikidum
Curse, and I need-, I canít, thereís so much-," Hermione ran a hand
through her hair, looking very frantic and very stressed.
"Hermione, you have got to calm
down," said Ron, looking into her eyes.
"No, I canít, I need to study,"
"Why? Youíre the smartest witch in
the year, you just need to relax,"
"I canít!" she said, her voice
breaking. Tears filled her eyes, and she tried to blink them back.
"Hermione, whatís wrong? You know
youíll ace them! Itís alrightÖ" His blue eyes filled with concern, and he
gently shut her book.
"I have to pr-p-prove them
wrong," she gasped, tears now falling freely.
"Who?" Ron didnít know what do
to, he had never known what do to when people cried, when he was little he
always hugged his Mum, but now, he hadnít the slightest idea how to comfort one
of his best friends.
"Hermione, whoís them?" He felt
so helpless; he didnít know how to make her stop; stop crying.
"Them, Wha-when they say
Muh-Muggle-borns are inferior and, b-before that, I wa-was always just weird,
a- and," she gasped and put her arm around Ron, crying into the folds of
his robes, " They ne-never thought I was g-good enough, I need t-to prove
them wrong, I need to-,"
"Youíll always be tops to me,"
"Oh Ron!" said Hermione looking
up, and wiping away her still falling tears, "Youíre just so-, so
you," He laughed.
"Is that a good thing?"
"Yes, Ron, it is." They sat
like that for a long time, Hermioneís head buried in Ronís robes, still crying
softly, while Ron comforted her the best he could.
Harry stood on the top of the hill,
watching, the wind brought the acrid burning smell into his nostrils. The town
below him was entirely engulfed in flames, people were screaming. He watched,
his legs unwilling to move, the hooded wizards cackling and pointing their
wands at small children, and then there were more shrieks of pain. A tall dark
figure appeared from the midst of the flames and advanced on cowering women.
Harry tried to run, tried to help, but he was rooted to the spot. The tall
figure lowered its hood, and grabbed the bawling woman by the neck.
"No!" Harry shouted, but it did
not help. The Dementor had already preformed its fatal kiss. More killings,
more Crucatius curses, more destruction. Harry looked around for a sign, where
was this? Finally he spotted a sign, flames licking its edges,
"Platibella". Above the town, the Dark Mark shone and glinted in the
smoke filled sky. Somewhere in the town, another Death Eater raised his want
and simultaneously four toddlers were killed by a jet of green light. Behind
him, he heard a voice. He turned quickly and he saw none other than Lord
Voldemort. Harryís scar felt like it was on fire. Voldemort turned to a fellow
Death Eater, sounding pleased with himself.
"This was pleasant wasnít it? Oh,
but Hogsmeade will be much more fun. Dumbledore wonít know what hit him. Then
weíll move on to that Muggle-loving†
foolís precious school." He let out a cold, high laugh.
Harry woke with a start. The dreams had
been occurring more frequently now. His head felt as if someone had just
plunged a dagger into his forehead. He leaped out of bed, holding his scar, and
raced down the spiral stairs. He didnít even notice Ron and Hermione, who had
fallen asleep in each otherís arms. Running through the Common Room, pushing
open the portrait hole, and continuing down the hallway, Harry had but one
thought, Get to Dumbledore.